Wading through the brush and thistle as each nuanced reality creeps in and passes through. Each footstep revealing a new scratch, recompensed only when one is able to see past to the mountain which extends beyond the flat, unyielding forest.

Will the forest reveal the mountain, or was the mountain present all along? Perhaps she was slowly inclining in valor and rigor, unbeknownst and uninhibited. As one wades through the brush and thistle one must be wary of the inclining mountain, hopeful they may reach its peak. The hitch of the brush and thistle may be immediate, but the slow incline and sweeping views of the mountain conquered silently, will pay tenfold in their own right. 

If only it were as simple as reaching a singular summit and being rid of the wretched brush and thistle. And yet as the previous height is revealed, another follows suit.

And yet, one contains in their arsenal more tools of late. Lately one has become craftier than the brush and thistle previous. And so the wading continues. And the tools of man are used to survive and thrive even among secret mountains and the thistle and brush on the forefront.